Drowning In An Emerald Storm
by brokehisactionman
Summary: This is the squeal to Falling Apart in Your Arms Again. That being said, please read the first story or may be confused! After Sherlock's suicide former prostitute John Watson must decide what to do with his life now that his lover is gone. But fate always has a funny way of bring lost things home. AU Story!
1. Chapter 1

**Hello everybody, I'm back! **

**I have here the start of the sequel to Falling Apart In Your Arms Again, that you all demanded. :P **

**That being said if you are reading this and you haven't read the previous story, I highly recommend that you do or you may be a little confused. I just want to say thank you for all your support with favorites, kudos and reviews. Although I may not get the time to reply to all of them, I do read them! **

**Thank you my beta, sethrox9730!**

**This first chapter is dedicated to Myr who gave me the main idea for this sequel, and to Lapus_Lazulli, I hope this lives up to your expectations**.

**Also a quick thank you to Hannah, who let me rant and rave at her over this sequel and listened to all my deluded ideas even though she is not an obsessed fan of Sherlock. :)**

**So shall we begin? Please bear in mind this is an AU! **

* * *

Watching John limp down the road, Dr Sawyer was slightly sad to see him go. He hadn't been at the doctor's surgery for long and he was already leaving. There was no denying that John was a great man and an amazing doctor, but it seemed that after the suicide of his lover, the job didn't give him a buzz anymore. However there was also another reason for leaving; there had been an influx of fake patients. Journalists in disguise trying to get an interview out of John. There had been too many occasions where John had almost battered these people in the surgery. On top of that John was far too paranoid about the return of Moran if he chose to resurface, the police were useless in their attempt at finding him. It was like the man had never existed. Sawyer moved away from the window blinds as John disappeared out of sight.

Night after night John sat in the dark, listening for a man that wasn't there. The funeral of his lover hit him hard, it wasn't a great turn out but John had expected as much.

John took one final last look at that shiny headstone before turning his back in order to find Mrs. Hudson. The card sat heavy in John's pocket as his mind became preoccupied with it.

Both John and Mrs. Hudson sat in silence in taxi as they traveled back to Baker Street. John's mind was clouded with his new decisions which he had to make about his future.

The taxi came to halt outside the flat, Mrs. Hudson kindly paid for the both of them. John entered the property, in favor of continuing straight up the stairs without conversation about the funeral with Mrs. Hudson.

John instantly took the card out of his pocket. He considered taking a lighter and burning it, but he quickly diminished the idea. Re-reading the text on the card, he considered his options.

_John Holmes, __male prostitute._

Days before the funeral and old client had gotten in contact with John with an offer of a change of direction in his life. Legalized sex.

It was an offer of paid travel and accommodation and an income in exchange for making movies. It was an attractive offer, he'd get to leave behind the haunting memories of Baker Street and still get that long desired buzz from doing something that wasn't moral. His thoughts returned to Sherlock. Leaving this place to sleep with strangers almost seemed like he was cheating on him. The man was barely cold in the ground and John was considering this new option.

It only took John a maximum of five minutes to decide he didn't like the text of the card.

He scribbled down a new word format.

_John Holmes, amateur porn star._

John's almost chocked up writing the '_Holmes_' part of the card. He didn't want to be known at Watson anymore. That was in the past, a past he didn't want to be reminded of anymore. He also hoped this name change would mean that John would always have a part of Sherlock with him for life, no matter what he was doing in his life.

John sent a confirmation text to his old client. He glanced around the room estimating what items he would take with him. He started making a mental checklist.

Sherlock's chair.

Sherlock's skull.

Sherlock's stupid horned animal with the headphones.

John quickly realised everything he wanted to take would leave him surrounded in Sherlock's possessions and memories. Maybe he should add a couple of his things to lists to even it out a bit.

His gun, he would defiantly take that.

All his jumpers.

The lucky cat, he couldn't leave without that.

Maybe his chair as well, he had grown quite accustomed to it.

So this was all he had in the world.

He had a couple of nights before he had to leave, he said goodbye to Mrs. Hudson, quickly changing the subject every time she asked what he was going to do. All his wanted items had been packed and were being shipped to their destination. The rest of the stuff in the flat had been placed into storage; he couldn't bring himself to throw even a single piece of Sherlock's stuff out. John had once final stop before leaving his life behind.

The gate slammed behind him on its hinges, John paid no attention to the sound as he made a sharp turn, feet moving over the grass, cane dragging, while he clutched the flowers harder slightly. He stopped in front of the grave. Deep breath taken, he moved towards the head stone. John placed one hand on top of the stone, placing the bunch of flowers to one side of the grave, as he knelt down onto his good leg to brush away the decaying fallen leaves from the surrounding trees.

"Hey Sherlock, how you doing? Sorry. Silly question. I guess this may be my final goodbye. I've been offered a new job away from here. It's in Amsterdam, so I won't be able to visit. But I just wanted to say, I will always love you. I've never met anyone else who could make me feel like the world stops spinning, I'm so glad I met you. No one can take the time we had together away."

Out of John's control, trails of tears began to run down his face. He just felt numb as he began to organize the flowers into the built in vase in the headstone. Using the cane, John pushed himself up off the ground. He shifted over the end of the grave to face it head on. This was it this was the final time he would visit here. He pulled out his phone to take a quick snap of the grave for future reference.

This was it. John had everything in order, he was ready to leave before he changed his mind.

"Mr. Watson?"

John turned to the call of his name. There stood a woman, holding a blackberry waiting for John to reply.

"Yes?"

"My boss, Mycroft would like to see you."

John rolled his eyes but reluctantly followed the woman into a black sleek car. He didn't feel polite enough to make small talk. In fact he was pretty pissed off that Mycroft had interrupted his last goodbye with Sherlock.

As the engine of the car stopped, the driver exited the vehicle to hold the door open for John. He stepped out into a warehouse. Stood in the center of the darkened warehouse was Mycroft, unsurprisingly.

"John Watson, nice to see you again".

John cut him off before he could say another thing.

"Get to the point will you, I'm kind of busy" huffed John, giving off the perception of a bored man.

"Ah yes, '_busy_'. My sources inform me that you have made a career change. Would this be correct? Asked Mycroft.

"I could be wrong, but it's none of your business."

"I had an alternative reason for calling you here. I wanted to apologize in person to you. I can't help feeling that I could have done more to of stop the events of these previous weeks occurring."

"You mean your brother's suicide? You can actually say it you know. Sherlock committed suicide, and neither of us could save him," spat John in anger.

"Look I don't have time for this. Goodbye Mycroft," With that John turned his back on Mycroft and limped back to the car.

Mycroft slightly nodded at his minion, as John slammed the door shut. The engine started up to take John back to Baker Street for the last time.

John spent his final night in Baker Street in the darkness once more, with half a bottle of bourbon.

Mrs. Hudson sent him on his way with premade sandwiches, a flask of tea and warning of dire consequences if he didn't keep in touch. A car had been sent by his client, now employer, to take him to the airport. He didn't want to cry, not now. The car sped away, leaving everything behind him.

He was escorted to his seat by the airhostess. As soon as he sat down the woman next to him was overly friendly. She insisted on hearing his entire life story, as well as telling him her own. The plane journey had been uncomfortable at best. A screaming child, a whiny old man and a woman next to him that just wouldn't shut up. He faked the need to go to the toilet just to get away from this woman for a little while. John dragged his suitcase through the checkout and out into the street. He had a meeting with his new employer at a local cafe; the next part was finding the flaming cafe. John figured the only thing to do was to find a taxi and point to the place on a Google map image. He should really attempt to learn the local language at least.

John stepped into the cafe, eyes catching his new employer, Ed Carew instantly.

"Hey John, how was the flight?"

"The worst," smiled John without any real emotion.

"So I basically just wanted to ask if you have changed your mind about your decision to join my production company?" ask Ed, before taking a sip of his coffee.

"I think I'm up for the challenge, never done anything like it before. Should be an experience at least," joked John.

Ed noticed that John hadn't directly answered the question, but he didn't mention it.

"Well you will be meeting your partner for the film tomorrow so you can get to know each other before filming starts, still working on some lines in the script but it should be with you soon, oh I just need to you to sign these papers," Ed pushed some stray pieces of paper in John's direction as well as pen. John skimmed through the text. Blah blah, consent to use of footage, blah blah provide evidence that individual is clean of STD's/HIV/AID's; Just all technical stuff so that there wasn't a risk of one of the performers suing Ed.

"Sounds good, I look forward to it," replied John, just managing a brief smile.

Ed had set up a meeting with John's co-star Jade. She was the stereotypical porn star: Skinny, large breasts, fake nails. But the hair caught John's attention the most. It was short length, mainly curly and black... Just like Sherlock's was. Was this some kind of sick joke? Find a female that almost resembled Sherlock? So John wouldn't have a problem fucking her? John tried to not let the anger sweep over him. Jade was nice enough. They sat, talked, shared lunch, and even exchanged business numbers. Tomorrow would be a big day for John, the start of the rest of his career. He should really get an early night. With that John headed to his new flat, all the possessions he had brought with him had been shipped fast and placed in his new flat. It wasn't Baker Street but it was just as nice.

His dreams were laced with Sherlock's suicide. Over and over the replay of Sherlock's body hitting the floor caused him to toss and turn; his heartbeat rose rapidly like he was reliving it. Sweat soaked the bed sheets, as he screamed and reached for his falling lover in an attempt to save him. No use. Blood spattered across his dream and the body once again hit the pavement. Suddenly eyes wide open, John clutched at the air in front from, and not quite realizing it was a dream yet. He fell off the bed in confusion between reality and dreamfulness. Realizing his mistake, he pulled himself onto the bed, sat there and cried. He couldn't go on like this. Seeing Sherlock die night after night was slowly killing him. There was no way he was getting anymore sleep tonight, so instead he sat there in the darkness and silently wept for his past life and his dead lover.

Filming was due to start; John resembled a dead zombie rather than a dashing porn star. The make-up lady was going to have a tough time making him look presentable. Ed came to brief him while the woman applied the base foundation to his face.

"Right John this is how it's going to work, we have got various camera set up in the set, this too limit the amount of people on the set, for your comfort really. We will film the intro at a later date, but if you don't mind we like to get start into the main action part."

John's eyes-widened a little hearing that.

"So I'll get you a little time to 'warm up', if you catch my drift," joked Ed. With that the man was gone.

The make-up artist quickly finished and was away. John had to get himself into the zone. The script stated it was going to be an army training inspired porno. Uniform wasn't required to today's shot apart from the headdress that Jade would be wearing during the act.

There was only one problem. He was flaccid. This was going to be awkward if he couldn't achieve an erection. He tried looking Jade, nothing. He tried stimulating himself, nothing. The only other option was to quit this, it was evident he wasn't up to it.

Sherlock. He took himself back to the night they first slept together. His cock gave a slight twinge at the memory. Bingo. John flooded his mind with sexual memories of Sherlock, pretending that the man wasn't dead. He replaced the figure of Jade with one of Sherlock. He was half-hard; Jade just had to do the rest. John was caught up in the moment as he entered the set; he blocked out the other people from his mind and focused on Jade. Concentrating he morphed her face into Sherlock's. He wasn't fucking Jade anymore. He was reliving the sex he had with Sherlock, as twisted as it seemed. Although there was a slight difference. It was Sherlock with a vagina. That was fine, he could work with that. John strained himself not to scream out Sherlock's name, in favor of passionate grunting and groaning. Jade bounced up and down on top of John riding him with professionalism. John wrapped his fingers in her hair, that black curly fucking hair. Jade screamed her way through her orgasm. This is where John remembered what the script required. He pulled out of her, pushed her back into the bed and came over her chest and part of her face. They both were panting.

Feelings stirred in John, he was being to feel that after event buzz he had not only felt when he was a prostitute but also when he was with Sherlock. Was John really going to have sex with strangers just to keep seeing some form of Sherlock? John had already made his decision before the director had yelled 'cut'.

John excused himself from the set to freshen up. Ed was there waiting with a towel on hand.

"That was great John; I've never seen so much raw passion. What is your secret?"

_'Pretend I'm fucking my dead boyfriend.'_

"Just caught up in the moment I guess," shrugged John, pulling some items of clothing on to cover himself up. Ed reached over to supply him with some water and continued talking.

"Well, whatever it was, it's obviously working. We will finish up the rest of the scene tomorrow," Ed patted him on the shoulder as he walked away. There wasn't much else John could do apart from clean up and head back to the flat.

* * *

**I'm sorry! Please forgive me! **

**As an extra note, while writing this story I also watched Louis Theroux and the Brothel as well as Louis Theroux does porn, this gave me an interesting insight into how both professions work and made me understand how each job affects the people doing them, I strongly recommend watching these documentaries (if you are old enough as well!)**

**Feel free to comment, like or whatever you want! The whole story is written out so no waiting around for me to overcome writer's block! Plus if you want to contact me I'm under the new url of 'benedictlecter' . tumblr. com. **

**Have a brilliant day! :) **


	2. Chapter 2

**Hello everyone! I'm so sorry for the this being overdue! I've just moved house and started uni. I have debts and responsibilities now :( So this story just kept being pushed back. While on that note, any of you started uni this month? Being at uni is defiantly out of my comfort zone and a little scary, however, I joined the Doctor Who society at my uni, went to the first meet-up, got very drunk and told them all I write fanfiction about John being a prostitute. Wooooo great first impression! **

**Anyway I hope you enjoy this next part. Betaed by the wonderful sethrox9730! **

* * *

Sherlock watched as John said goodbye at his grave after the funeral. Seeing his lover break down in front of him made him want to die, if he wasn't already 'dead'. Sherlock stood back from the trees, to get a better look at John discretely. He wanted nothing more than to shout out to John letting him know he was alright. But he couldn't. Any risk of John knowing would change the whole situation, they would both be danger again and Sherlock couldn't let that happen, not to his John. The sight of John pained Sherlock. His lover was pale, with obvious signs of night terrors and the impression of a hangover. There was nothing Sherlock could do to stop this, he just hoped for both their sakes that John would come through this the other side and not do anything stupid while Sherlock was trying to destroy the remains of Moriarty's web of crimes.

As he watched John limp away he sent a text to his brother. 'Keep an eye on JW, for me.'

There was no reply from Mycroft but he knew the message had been understood.

Sherlock's next stop was Europe; apparently Jim had made some important connections over there while fucking a corporate CEO business man. It had only been a month after his death; his face was far too easily recognizable. Mycroft had sent a fake passport, documents as well the means to disguise him. He applied top of the range costume make up to his face, soon he didn't even look like Sherlock anymore. He was an old man. Ronald Howard, according to his passport. His posture changed the moment he stepped into the airport; he gave off the demeanor of an elderly man. Slow in walking speed, slightly hunched over and straining to read signs. No one attempted to offer him any help which he was glad of. He was seated and ready to get going. That's when he heard it.

"I'm John Holmes."

It couldn't be could it? Sherlock's head snapped around a little too fast for an old man. There he was John Watson sat just a few seats down from him. Fate had cruel intentions. He couldn't risk John noticing him. The only option was to attempt to move. Sherlock gestured the air hostess towards him, with his tired old man voice he asked to be moved. No use there was nowhere else available. He even begged to be upgraded. Nothing. As he continued to demand and whine he heard John behind him let out a huff. Sherlock realized his moaning was getting to John. Maybe he should try something else. The best way to hide a leaf is in a forest. So Sherlock sat back in the chair as to not draw any more attention to himself. If he didn't make a scene then John wouldn't see him. Sherlock concentrated on every answer John gave the woman next to him. Then he realized something. He had called himself John Holmes. Instantly his heart ached as tears welled up in his eyes. Sherlock knew he had a phone call to make the moment the plane touched down. So for the rest of the flight, Sherlock listened to the sound of John's voice, it was like the calm before the storm, the heat in a down pour and most importantly it was heaven to Sherlock.

"Excuse me"

Sherlock listened intently as John made his way from his seat to the toilet. John's jacket brushed past Sherlock's hand that was now clutched to the arm of the chair for fear it would unconsciously reach out and grab John. Tingles and sparks shot up his arm from his hand. Sherlock had longed for physical contact from John the moment he realized he was going to have to 'die'. Sherlock didn't dare make eye contact when John returned.

The plane touched down and all fliers made their way from the flight. Sherlock hung back for a little while to give John plenty of chance to evacuate the plane. When he next looked up his lover was gone. Sherlock hobbled out of the airport and into the street. He found a small back alley void of cameras and human life. He pulled out his phone and called Mycroft.

"Hello dear brother how may I be of assistance?"

"I've just been sat on a flight, near enough 3 seats away from John, what the hell Mycroft? How could you let that happen? In fact what was John doing there in the first place?" demanded Sherlock, almost shouting down the phone.

"I thought it would be better if you weren't updated on the current situation with John," stated Mycroft.

"Tell me now..."

"It seems that John has had a better offer. He had packed up his life at Baker Street and is now working for a Mr. Carew as an amateur porn star."

Sherlock was silent. He had only been 'dead' a month and John was having sex with other people.

"Sherlock, are you still there?"

"Yesss," muttered Sherlock, still lost in the revelation.

"Look I have to go, but contact me when you find the any leads," Mycroft rang off. Leaving Sherlock stood there still clutching the phone, mouth still wide in shock and eyes watering.

Did he really expect John never to see people or have sex again just because Sherlock was dead? Of course not. Sherlock began to wonder whether this whole mission was relevant now that it was evident that Sherlock didn't have a John to come back to now. Sherlock quickly diminished the thought. Of course it was relevant, he had promised himself to keep John safe even if John was sleeping with another. His love for John wasn't just going to stop because John had found something more interesting to do than to pine over a dead man.

Sherlock pocketed his phone and went on his way.


	3. Chapter 3

**Is anyone still reading this? **

**Hello everyone! It's been a while. Sorry!**

**It seems these doctor who society meetings are quickly turning into drunken meetings with doctor who on in the background! We did have a quiz night though, my partner and I came joint first! Just 5 more quizzes to go to find the ultimate doctor who geek!**

**Anyway, here is the next installment. Comments from you wonderful people would be lovely!**  
**Betaed by the super wonderful sethrox9730**

* * *

John had a different nightmare tonight. Instead of watching Sherlock die, Sherlock was everyone. He was Jade, he was the taxi driver, he was the old man on the plane, he was the crying child, he was the camera man, all standing around John and judging him for his decision and choice. But most importantly, mocking him for his failure to save the only thing he loved in his life. Once again sheets were soaked in sweat as the night terror came to its climax, waking John so that he could shout into the darkness once more.

The week was over and the first film had been made. There were a few scenes they had to film over again, a few sound over's that needed adjusting. But it was ready for viewing. John couldn't watch it. It felt wrong, immoral as well as a betrayal of Sherlock's love. John stepped outside the viewing room for the duration of the film. The film was a success, Ed's company had found a publisher, soon John's face, or more importantly his dick would be displayed in every seedy sex shop in the city. He wasn't quite sure how he felt about that. He made sure his name in the credits was displayed as John Holmes and that was him done until the next film script popped up. He had been paid quite nicely from Ed, so instead of screaming at the dark he decided to see the sights and bars.

Morning soon came and Ed rang John with offers of more work as well as bigger pay, John said yes without thinking it through. Acting on impulse he could get used to this.

The films all continued in the same way. John would turn up, John would get naked, John would think about sex with Sherlock, John would fuck whomever he had to fuck and then John would leave.

Sherlock on the other hand was having more trouble; he was now in Russia discovering Moriarty's links that went further than illegal vodka. He had uncovered and sent information back to Mycroft about various up and coming criminals, plans for heists as well as information on potential spies. However he was still no clearer in dismantling Moriarty's network. Moran was still on the run or more importantly still breathing and Sherlock was coming ever closer to being killed every time he went after some new men in Moriarty's network. He was hopping all over Europe trying to track leads that quickly disappeared. Soon he found himself in Berlin hiding in a sex shop away from two criminals he had double crossed. He pretended to browse the isles; he made his way from the scary looking leather strapped toys to the DVD section. He viewed various titles looking at the sneak peak pictures on the front of the DVDs to show the buyer what they would be getting. None of the people on the covers did anything for him. They were all just flesh. Naked skin and bone, nothing more. He was just about to turn away when he noticed some more DVDs, this time John was the one on the front cover. There were different titles he was staring in, each with varying cheesy names and descriptions:

'Captain Big Boy gives his girl a tough training working out'

'Can Mr. Hottie keep control of his horny students?'

It fascinated Sherlock. Without thinking he gathered every type of DVD with John's face on it he could find. He took it to the counter to pay. The young woman behind the till viewed his purchases.

"I see you are into Jonnie Holmes?" questioned the woman.

"Excuse me?"

"Jonnie Holmes, that's the porn star"

"Oh right, yes quite attractive"

The till assistance smiled as she placed his purchases into a colored bag and continued to make conversation.

"I can see the attraction, he is mysterious. No one knows where he came from, he doesn't do interviews, doesn't attend erotica like the other famous porn stars do. He's no James Dean, but the ladies love him" commented the woman.

Sherlock took his bag and left the shop. He took a quick side way glance before taking the back alleys back to his hotel.

Once inside his discarded his coat and emptied the bag onto the bed. He closed the curtains and turned the TV on. Thank god for built in DVD players. He took one case, opened it up and placed the DVD inside the player. He sat back on the bed and waited for the film to start. He kept the sound low, but the picture was glorious. It was a sharp high definition close up of John. Sherlock ignored the other woman entirely, choosing to purely focus on John. Watching the way he moved, the way he grunted and the way he strained his muscles was beautiful. Sherlock remembered every detail of them together. He missed him so much. As he continued to watch he felt his body respond. His trousers became too tight and too hot. He all but ripped the material of his legs in eagerness to grope himself. His movement was in time with John's. He kept bringing himself to the edge then stopping as if he were waiting for John to be in the same position almost as if John was actually in the room with him. Watching John climax on the screen caused Sherlock to follow; he came with John's name on his lips clutching at the bed sheets. That was the most he had ever felt connected with John since the death. For the next couple of hours, Sherlock watched every DVD and practically milked himself dry. It was around 4am when Sherlock realized what he was doing. John wasn't his anymore. This was unhealthy, derogatory as well as just plain weird. Sherlock shoved the DVDs away from him, and began to cry over John. He sobbed into the pillows, trying to keep the noise down.

Surprisingly crying brought sleep quicker. Sherlock drowned in the bad dreams slipping into the darkness of unconsciousness. Morning soon came as Sherlock groggily awoken to a silent hotel room. There was a text message awaiting him on his phone.

The foundations of M's network have been to crack. Watch out for Moran- MH

Sherlock didn't bother replying, pushing himself out of the bed he proceed to alter his appearance. Grabbing a pair of scissors and hair dye from his possessions he made his way into the bathroom. Firstly he chopped of the parts of his hair where his distinctive curls were being to form, then applied a strawberry-blonde dye to his hair. Over half-an-hour Sherlock hair was changed, he gave himself a second glance at the mirror in attempt to get used to his new look. Packing up the rest of the room, Sherlock was ready to move on as well as begin the next stage of the destruction of Moriarty's network. Notably the DVDs were placed at the bottom of his bad, covered by articles of clothing.

Sherlock made his way to the reception of the small hotel, only to find the two criminals from the day before sat in reception waiting for him. As a response, he slightly turned his head and made him way to the front desk. He kept his voice low as he asked the receptionist for his hotel bill. Sliding a couple of currency notes over the table, his bill was paid for, in cash so that he would not leave a paper trail behind. Sherlock just needed to get past the criminals without them realising who he was. Grabbing a local tour guide map from the rack, he opened it up looking like a normal tourist planning their next route. He used the map to cover part of his face as he left. As soon as he was reached some distance away from the hotel he binned the map.

"Idiots" commented Sherlock, to himself glancing back around just to make sure he wasn't being followed.

Sherlock made his way to the local train station. Newly ticket brought, he boarded the train and settled down for the duration. Mycroft had arranged a plane ticket to take Sherlock to Ireland back to Moriarty's base. Between them they have just about collected enough evidence to put an end to the links that Moriarty had built, there was only problem that remained, Moran. Sherlock was at his wits end, it was looking impossible to build a case against Moran. His military past meant that he was careful and meticulous when it came to covering his tracks. Worst of all Sherlock had no idea where Moran even was in the world. Being two steps behind the man caused Sherlock to be on edge. The man was exhausted and burned out. Breaking Moriarty's network was coming close to killing him. Sherlock let himself slip into a light sleep; he needed it as much as he didn't want to admit it.

The stuttering of the train nudged him awake. The walk to the airport wasn't long as Sherlock made his way through the small crowds of individuals.

Unbeknown to Sherlock John had been given a similar offer.


End file.
